Dear Mr President
by wild MAGIC user
Summary: A little girl shows the Rogue King what is going on while he sits drinking and comfy. WARNING: Tears will be shed.


**Hello. This is a little story that popped into my head while I was listening to "Dear Mr. President." It takes place while George Cooper is Rogue King. It probably stinks, but if I get enough reviews maybe I will turn it into a story. Probably just going to leave it a One shot, though. So review people!!!**

A little girl walked the streets of Chorus alone. Her straight brown hair hung loosely, and big black circles spread from her eyes. She was pole-skinny, and pole-tough. No one glanced her way as she walked, no one even cared. She didn't expect them to. She walked a long way, all the way from her small home, the corner of a street, to a tavern with the name of Dancing Dove. She walked slowly in there, and sat down on a bench. No one looked her way. She hadn't expected them to.

"Wuz a 'ittle un like ya doin' in 'ere?" A drunken fellow, Light Fingers, asked looking at her. She just stared at him sadly in the face. Her coal black eyes showed pain and terrible knowledge. So much that it made even the drunken 'Fingers look the other way and take a great chug of brandy.

"Little one." The man said. He was tall, with a strong build and a large nose. He sat upon a large chair in front of a great fire, and was known as the King, or the Rogue. "What are you doing here so late little one. We don't hire on until you are of age." He said, looking at the little bundle of dirt with questions in his eyes. By now the entire room had fallen silent.

"Mr. President," She began. "Would you take a walk with me?" Low mumblings of "Would you take a walk with me?" Punctured the room.

"Well…" He said, looking around the small room. He signaled to a man to come and sit by him. The man was not drunk, but held a bottle of whiskey in one hand anyway. The Rogue whispered something to him in his ear before getting up and walking to the little girl. "Of course I will walk with you." The girl got up and stood, reaching no higher than his waist. They walked outside and were silent for a time before the little girl spoke up again.

"Lets pretend we are just two people, and you are not better 'an me." She looked up painfully into those kind eyes, which were looking straight ahead so proudly.

"Of course." He replied again.

"I would like to ask you some questions, if we can speak honestly..." She whispered. Now she was starting to lose hope that anything she said would matter, for this king stood in her presence as if she were talking to a wall.

"Shoot." He said, finally stopping.

"What do you feel when you see all of the Homeless on the street?" She looked sadly at an old man begging on the corner of one of the dirt roads. "Who do you pray for at night before you go to sleep?" Now she gave him time to answer, looking up into his face.

"I…I do my best to help all of those people, sweet." He said. "I pray for someone very special to me. She…is pretending to be someone she ain't. And while taking care of you, and all of these people, I also take care of her." He said. She nodded, but it was almost as if she hadn't heard, or his answer was insignificant.

"What do you feel when you look in the mirror? Are you proud?" She looked up again, hope in those small button eyes.

"I think… I feel proud, because…" He had no answer. Nodding again, as if in understanding, she turned to look at a small family of street rats. The woman was smacking a little boy while the father looked on. She quickly looked away.

"How do you sleep while the rest of us cry? How do you dream when a mother has no chance to say goodbye?" She asked, a slow tear trickling down her cheek.

"Now youngster, I assure you that what ever has happened to you will be…" He never got to finish because the little girl spun on him, her voice raising half of an octave.

"How do you walk with your head held high? Can you even look me in the eye?" Just then he couldn't look the small tyke in the eye. His own eyes were drawn to his hands, which were twining around themselves.

"I feel rightly ashamed." He said. "You have every right to ask me this, but I just can't answer right now. Tonight is very important to me, and I have to go back now, ok?" He lied, not wanting to be interrogated any longer. He was not trying to be mean, or to cause this little girl suffering, but this was all too much for him to handle. She took him along the back roads, where the poor and hungry waited for death to take them with tears in their eyes.

"Tell me why?" She asked.

"I can't! I don't even know what you are asking of me! Do you want me to change this?" He asked, tears welling up in his own eyes. His arms spread to take in their surroundings, the many people sleeping and praying and suffering around them.

"Dear Mr. President," she said, shaking her head sadly at his foolishness. "Were you a lonely boy?" She asked. "Are you a lonely boy?" Her voice was low now. This was one of her most important questions. This at least he knew how to answer.

"No. I have many friends. I have enemies, to be sure. Are you one of them?" He eyed the little dirt rag, losing patience.

"How can you say No Child Is Left Behind? We are not dumb and we're not blind!" She said. Some of the people gathered on the street came and stood behind her, and one of the older boys came right up next to her and put a hand on her shoulder.

"They are all sitting in your cells, as you pave the way to hell…" A mother with three boys said. By now he was struck dumb, these people were so weak looking and hungry, yet so strong and intelligent.

"What kind of father would take his own daughters rights away?" A man asked, looking sadly at the woman with three boys.

"What kind of father would hate is own daughter if she were gay?" A girl who looked around 14 asked.

"I can only imagine what kind of things the first lady has to say." An elderly man said, his voice rough and scratchy.

"I haven't gotten one…" George almost got out before he was cut off.

"You have come a long way, from whiskey and Cocaine." A young mother said, holding a small baby close to her heart.

"How do you sleep while the rest of us cry?" The original little girl asked, tears rolling freely down her little face. "How do you dream when a mother has no chance to say goodbye? How do you walk with your head held high? Can you even look me in the eye?" She paused, but only for a split second before adding, "Let me tell you 'bout hard work."

"Minimum wage with a baby on the way." The woman who clutched the baby said.

"Let me tell you 'bout hard work." Someone yelled from the back of the crowd that was forming.

"Rebuilding your house after the bombs took them away." The mother with three boys said.

"Let them tell you 'bout hard work." The little girl who had so bravely come to get him said.

"Building a bed out of a cardboard box." The boy who had his hand on the little girl's shoulder said.

"Let me tell you 'bout hard work!" Someone screamed.

"Hard work! Hard work!" The entire crowd said.

"You don't know nothing 'bout hard work! Hard work! Hard work!" The man who gazed sadly at the mother said.

"How do you sleep at night? How do you walk with you head held high?" The original little girl asked, now full out weeping. A few seconds later she was a bit more calmed down. "Dear Mr. President you'd never have taken this walk with me would you?" She asked, a little hiccup escaping her mouth.

"I…I don't know. But I can tell you something." He said, leaning down to hold both of her hands. "I am going to pray for you tonight."

**There you have it. Hope you didn't cry…or at least, not hard. This took about a pint of tears from me, but the idea has been whispering in my ear all of this time. It bugged me, so I wrote it. If you guys review maybe I will change this into a story. Maybe**.


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